


the good kind of black night

by miriya



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blindfolds, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, literally just some porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 17:50:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17228540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miriya/pseuds/miriya
Summary: Cor is kinda cute when he's grumpy.  Nyx is really cute when he's horny.  Together they -- make a respectable mess?  It's just a whole bunch of divorced-from-any-particular-moment smut, folks.  (Inspired by some fantastic fanart by ZVA-redink on tumblr/pf.)





	the good kind of black night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vannja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vannja/gifts).



> Y'all know Zayn? Sweet bean of a human being who does great art and is just generally wholly fantastic all around. He drew [a rather lovely (nsfw) thing](https://www.pillowfort.io/posts/333374) and thanks to the bond-building power of my internet ineptitude, I was able to ask if he'd allow me to write a thing for it. This is, uh, that thing.
> 
> Some pictures are worth a thousand words, I hear, but this one is worth roughly four times that. c:

It's not so much that Cor is getting used to the blindfold; rather, it's that Nyx is _exceptionally_ good at convincing him that the apparent disadvantage is, in fact, no disadvantage at all. It's not fear that draws his remaining senses to an almost unbearable level of sharpness to compensate so much as that persistent, life-long need to absorb every detail available to him — particularly where Nyx is involved. 

Cool sheets, warming fast from the heat of his own body. The dip of the mattress near his hip, the buzz of _presence_ in the back of his mind even before he feels the heat radiating from Nyx's body, too. Reflex jerks his head back into the pillow as a blunt fingertip traces the boundary where folded silk lays against his cheek and Cor releases a slow, shivering breath through his nose, willing his own stubborn sense of vigilance into something like stillness for an hour or two.

He doesn't need his sight to be aware of the precise angle of Nyx's smile, to know that he's being observed just as closely. That wandering finger shifts, keeping contact as it traces up over the bridge of his nose, tilting into the side of a hand that strokes across his forehead and drifts past his hairline — petting, really, by the time it comes to rest over the shell of his ear. 

The soft, rumbling hum of Nyx's contentment is almost tangible. "You good?" 

"Good," Cor affirms. 

The mattress bows a little further, Nyx close enough that the outside of his knee butts up against Cor's ribs, more fingers tilting his chin upwards and Cor correctly anticipates the brush of lips against his own a moment before it comes, opening up easily beneath the first wet slide of Nyx's tongue to receive another pleased little hum in response. Thoughtlessly, he reaches up to curl an arm around Nyx's shoulder — 

A quiet snort then, as Nyx's hand shifts away to catch Cor's wrist and gently guide it back above his head. "Stay," he murmurs half-into Cor's mouth, his voice a low rasp, edged with humor. Amused that Cor had forgotten, probably. 

"Easy for you to say," Cor grumbles, mostly to himself. 

"I'll make it worth it." And then Nyx kisses him again, slow and deep and thoughtful as he drags his fingernails along the inside of Cor's arm, heedless of — or, more likely, _savoring_ — the way Cor tenses to avoid squirming in response. The sensation is sharp and immediate, but Cor does as he's directed, carefully walling himself away from the urge to touch, to focus instead on the silky brush of a braid-tip against his jaw, the sudden sense of loss and acute chill as Nyx's hand withdraws, only to reappear several seconds later with a quick, solid pinch to his nipple that sends an answering jolt of shock straight to Cor's groin. 

He breaks away with a surprised hiss, and Nyx's quiet laughter accompanies the half-apologetic circling of his thumb over sensitive skin — for a the span of a few seconds, at least, before he's rolling it to a hard peak between his fingers. "Like that, huh?" Teasing. _Knowing._

"What do you think, Ulric?" As if the question is anything but purely rhetorical. Forbidden to move enough to drag a reflexive hand down his face, Cor turns his nose into the swell of his own bicep, vaguely abashed by his own skittishness in Nyx's hands. 

Nyx pauses, shifting slightly next to Cor, and he knows he's being studied again. He can almost feel the heavy weight of those storm-gray eyes on his naked skin — warm, yes, but still gauging. He realizes he's holding his breath, and releases it between his gritted teeth as Nyx leans to the side and all the anticipation in the world isn't enough to prepare him for the gentle squeeze of Nyx's fingers around his half-hard cock, a there and gone sensation that drags a low groan up from his chest, forces his thighs tense as his hips lift instinctively into empty air. 

"Think I've got some more work to do," Nyx says, and this time it's Cor who can't quite help his quiet snort of amusement. There's little mercy to be found in the slow glide of Nyx's hand stroking up the center of his chest and down his side, followed by an absence of contact beyond the warm line of Nyx's thigh against his flank that leaves every sense remaining to him straining to catch some errant shift of air or whisper of faint heat, to anticipate _where next._ And then: another slow, shiver-provoking scrape of fingernails along the inside of Cor's thighs until he feels his cock jump against his belly. Nyx deliberately ignores it, stroking and scratching and petting what feels like every other inch of him within reach, undaunted even when Cor growls his impatience at all his meandering. 

Unlike Cor, Nyx loves to linger, thrives on drawing out his own pleasure until he seems fit to burst. It's no surprise then that, given full control, he chooses to subject Cor to the same treatment. It's nice — better than nice, really — but it's through Nyx that Cor rediscovered his impatience in the first place. 

How fitting, that it threatens to unravel him now. 

As frustrating as those provocative caresses are, it's nothing compared to the sense of _absence_ that follows when Nyx sits back, then slips off the mattress entirely. Cor listens to the muted sound of bare feet on the carpet, the dry wood scuff of a drawer in need of grease, opening and closing again — refusing all the while to make the obvious comparisons, even within the relative sanctuary of his own head. 

Instead, he thinks: fucking _finally._

"You know," Nyx murmurs, "it's a shame you can't see yourself like this. It's … really something." There's a softened shape to the words, that quiet hint of reverence that Cor recognizes as entirely reciprocal; the one that still manages to catch him off-guard when it's turned his way. The one he can never quite seem to articulate properly in return. 

Cor's face turns toward Nyx like it's instinct. He knows the look on Nyx's face like he knows the certainty of sunrise, and knows, too, the twisting, unraveling feeling in his own chest that follows, reaching out from within that crackling, voltaic thought-haze of want. 

"I don't think I'd appreciate it nearly as much," he manages, quieter, rougher than he intends because it's easier than _I know exactly what you mean._

"Probably not," Nyx agrees, nudging Cor's legs a little further apart to fit himself into the space between. Cor feels the heat radiating from Nyx's body as he leans in, the wash of breath against his own parted lips — finds himself licking his own with anticipation as he flexes his hips to feel the soft slide of Nyx's cock drag against the crease of his thigh. "I could get used to this," Nyx whispers, and Cor can hear exactly how pleased he is with that impatient gesture. 

"You're a menace," Cor rumbles. 

Nyx bends to kiss him, a slide of lips against lips as maddeningly brief as the rest of those touches. "That's how you know I care." He turns his head, and Cor tenses beneath a deliberate scrape of teeth at the edge of his jaw, Nyx's fingers slotting against Cor's ribs as he nips and kisses his way down the expanse of his bared throat, leaving behind a trail of saliva-slick skin that chills quickly in the cool air. It's a different kind of anticipation now; no more guessing at where Nyx's clever fingers might show up next, instead the lit-fuse inevitability of Nyx's mouth and hands working down his body. It's easier to bear this way — not quite right, not half as satisfying as he _knows_ it can be, but better than it was. 

Better still, when Nyx takes him in hand again. Cor's breath stutters rough in his throat at the murderously slow stretch and give of his foreskin pushed over the swollen head of his cock, his entire body clenching when Nyx's tongue dips unexpectedly into that little well of space he creates with it. Unbidden, Cor digs his heels into the mattress as his hips jerk instinctively for want of _more of that,_ and Nyx obliges by drawing just the tip of him between his lips, huffing a quiet, fond sound. His other hand strokes slow over Cor's thigh, soothing and encouraging — gentle when he hooks his arm behind Cor's knee and draws his leg up over his shoulder. 

Reducing the potential for leverage, Cor realizes. Leaving him that much closer to being wholly at Nyx's mercy, as if he hadn't consented to exactly that from the very start. And it _is_ a choice, even now — like his hands, there's nothing more than Nyx's command and guiding touches to bind Cor in place, nothing more tangible than the desire to please Nyx that's warring benignly with the selfish pursuit of his own impatient pleasure. But he _does_ want that, just as much as he wants to be touched properly and kissed stupid and, yes, ultimately, absolutely fucked into the mattress. 

Cor tries to hold onto that thought, to focus on the uneven rise and fall of his own chest and the solid warmth of Nyx's back beneath his calf, drawing from memory the image of what Nyx looks like with his lips wrapped firm around his cock, face flushed and sweat-dappled beneath the unruly spill of damp hair, eyes dark and heavy-lidded and wicked with promise as he watches Cor back. As if Nyx is riding that same wavelength, the thought is immediately followed by the teasing flutter of Nyx's tongue against the underside of his head and Cor swears softly as he forces his body to remain still. 

The sound of Nyx pulling off of him is utterly filthy. "Oh, yeah?" 

"Enjoying yourself?" The one-sided attention seems a bit — unfair, really. For Nyx. Cor wonders how many times Nyx has touched himself since binding Cor's eyes, but doesn't quite bring himself to ask. 

"Enjoying the view, absolutely," Nyx says, and turns his head to press a kiss to the inside of Cor's thigh, the burr of stubble against sensitized skin provoking an almost violent shudder that has Nyx laughing all over again. "Getting bored?" 

Cor frowns. "Not — bored." He feels two of Nyx's fingers walk their way up the underside of his cock and stroke back down spit-slick skin. That inquisitive caress shifts as Nyx tips his hand to cradle Cor's balls in his palm, squeezing gently. When his thumb tracks lower, Cor's unclaimed thigh tenses, spreading wider out of habit, the slight catch of the callus-edged pad against his rim startlingly intense without any other immediate sensation to split his attention. Not bored at all, just .. unused to being denied. Does Nyx see that, too? 

He must, Cor thinks, to be so patient still. 

Nyx hums thoughtfully. "Still hard to say it, huh?" 

_Not so hard to_ think _it._ Cor feels the tug at the corner of his mouth, briefly wonders what Nyx _is_ seeing, what it must make him think. He's not like Nyx with his thoughtless words and generous mouth, too well-trained to his own woefully outdated standards of discipline, too versed in what it means to shut off what distracts and tune out the rest when _other people_ are involved — learning, so late, what he's done to himself. Stumbling, in fits and starts, back to the world in Nyx's hands. 

Maybe the silence goes on just a little too long, while Cor searches for a response that's both _right_ and _true._ He hears a faint sigh, then feels Nyx lean forward, guiding Cor's knee up to his own shoulder as he bends down for a kiss that feels oddly chaste for all their intent, here. "Didn't mean to pull you out of the moment," Nyx says, quiet. Apologetic. 

"Don't feel you pulling anything at the moment, Ulric," Cor says dryly, and feels the tension shift back to something more bearable when Nyx snorts a disbelieving laugh. 

"That's what you get for being so serious," Nyx says, punctuating the sentiment with another kiss and a playful wriggle of his hips into Cor's. "Someday, Cor. It'll be amazing — I'm gonna get you worked up, and you're gonna want me so bad you'll beg for it—" 

"If it were like that," Cor says, "I'd have been on my knees from the start." 

He feels Nyx go still for the span of a heartbeat, no more — senses the sharpening of his attention, the quick brush of a hand against Cor's face before Nyx sits back on his heels, curling his arm around his thigh in a loose embrace. "You know what? I'll take that." 

Cor hears the sound of skin moving over smooth cloth, and then the loud click of a cap opening. He hisses in surprise, nearly jerks entirely upright at the sensation of cold lubricant dripping a line up the underside of his cock and onto his belly. Nyx snickers, quick to curl fingers around him, stroking with both hands until Cor swears he can feel the throb of his pulse caught within the perfect cage of Nyx's grip. "Sorry," Nyx murmurs, though he doesn't sound particularly contrite at all. "Couldn't help myself." 

Cor growls quietly. "You're lucky I like you, Ulric." 

"It's true." Nyx's slick fingers track lower once more, bending to brush the backs of his knuckles over Cor's hole — circling, testing. Spreading the lubricant there, too, while his other hand continues to stroke and tease Cor's cock far too gently to provide any real relief. Cor tempers his impatience, fingers curling between the pillows as he leans back again and exhales, listening to the wet rhythm of skin moving over skin as he wills his body to relax for the slow, measured intrusion of Nyx's blunt fingertip. 

It's easy. Too familiar to be anything but welcome by now, no matter how the words themselves might stick in his throat. 

"Good?" Funny, how it's Nyx that sounds a bit breathless. 

Cor opens his mouth to reply at the same time that Nyx turns his wrist, the pad of that finger pressing up against precisely the right spot to scatter Cor's thoughts like so much dust in the wind, to make his cock twitch eagerly beneath Nyx's flattened palm. The sound that shivers up his throat is wholly unintelligible, thin and appallingly needy to his own ears. 

Nyx's chuckle is wholly unrepentant. "You were saying?" 

"Hurry _up_." 

He knows exactly the shape of the grin on Nyx's face as he teases that sensitive knot of nerves for a little while longer, even as he breathes a quiet _yes, sir._ And it feels like a loss when Nyx's hand slips from his cock with a last regretful squeeze, but he bites down on the inside of his cheek and resigns himself to the wait. Just a little longer. Just — 

It's Nyx's surprised hiss that follows the shake and spit-sound of the bottle of lubricant this time. "Thought you'd know better," Cor taunts, because _he_ can't quite help himself either, because it's better than embarrassing himself further by shamelessly grinding down onto Nyx's hand. 

"You know _me_ ," Nyx says, his voice hitching low into a near purr as he strokes himself slick, that blessed, not-enough pressure leaving as Nyx's finger slips free, Nyx's hands gently shifting the angle of Cor's hips to better align their bodies. "I learn best by doing." Definitely intentional, the way he accompanies his words with the slow drag of his cock along the cleft of Cor's ass. 

"Must be an open book, then," Cor mutters. He should — he should feel more exposed than he does, but the anchoring weight of Nyx all around him is a comfortable tether, his sense of physical presence solid enough for Cor to wrap around himself like a blanket. 

"Open where it counts, right now," Nyx says slyly, and then Cor feels the head of that incredible, untouchable cock press solid against his hole. In the moment, he's almost glad he's blind to the awkward angle of his pale legs splayed over Nyx's shoulders, the wet red curve of his own leaking dick tipped uselessly into his belly. The smell of sex and lubricant is sharp and vaguely acrid in his nostrils, cutting past the fainter scent of clean sweat and sandalwood and musky, spiced vanilla he's come to associate with Nyx himself. 

Cor snorts. "Not _yet_." He makes it a challenge, an entirely unsubtle attempt to get Nyx moving, already wound tight and fit to howl with the coiling weight of his own anticipation. Nyx's fingers fan against his chest, leaving damp trails in their wake, but Cor barely registers them — his whole consciousness is hung up on the stretch and grip of his own body around Nyx's cock as he flexes his hips, pressing in. (Finally. _Finally_.) 

It's never quite easy, taking all of Nyx, but something about that feels right and proper — a necessary reflection. Cor's fingers twist into the sheets as his head falls back against the pillow, sending a lone bead of sweat to streak down his forehead and disappear into his hairline. It's a little mean, the way Cor clenches briefly around him just to savor the jump and stutter of Nyx's breath, the helpless little moan that spills off his tongue as he nips at the inside of Cor's ankle in retaliation. "Wait 'til all of Insomnia finds out the Marshal of the Crownsguard is a _total_ brat." 

"No one would believe you," Cor murmurs smugly. 

Nyx laughs, and Cor can _feel_ it inside him, little prickling jolts of skin-against-skin. "Guess it'll be our secret, then," Nyx murmurs, and the teasing undercurrent in his voice leaves Cor wondering just how close he is to cracking the shell of his own patience. He likes Nyx like that — when the cheerful veneer of self-control is scraped back to reveal the skin-greedy, half-desperate creature beneath, the one that's both wildly affectionate and mostly selfish in its pursuit of satisfaction, all too eager to take Cor by the throat and drag him in its wake. 

Perhaps that's why those little ripples of embarrassment feel too contrived to acknowledge; in truth, he hopes to be pulled under. They both know it — why bother pretending otherwise? 

The first purposeful thrust pulls Cor away from his thoughts, pushing the air from his lungs as Nyx leans over him, cradling Cor's neck in the palm of his hand. The dull, startling knock of his skull against Nyx's as he misjudges the distance between them, and the feathery caress of loose hair splaying against his cheek, catching briefly in his beard — Nyx's half-laugh comes in gusts of warm breath against his lips, and Cor licks his way into Nyx's mouth, drawing him into a kiss to avoid the jokes he _knows_ are coming. 

Instead, Nyx rumbles a little sound of pure pleasure, surrendering to the smooth slide of Cor's tongue against his own, the measured rock of his hips still slow but edging toward the promise of a proper rhythm. He's generous with his attention in the meantime, stroking his way across Cor's skin, mapping out the laddering of his ribs beneath muscle, riding the increasingly uneven rise and fall of his chest, petting over the length of his flagging erection. And then Nyx shifts his angle, and Cor's fingers clench into the bedding as he breaks the kiss on a sharp indrawn breath. Nyx presses his lips to Cor's cheek before turning his head to bury his face against the side of his neck, murmuring thoughtless praise and filth-drenched flattery between nips and kisses. Again, the urge to reach out, to fold his arms around Nyx's shoulders is almost painful for its denial — it's not enough to curl his leg over the small of Nyx's back in pale imitation, but it's all he's got. 

The smell of sweat and sex is stronger now, the brush of Nyx's hair not-quite tickling his skin. When an errant _you feel so good_ and _fuck_ and _please_ stutters its way into the space between them, Cor is startled to hear his own voice gone choked and warped and ragged. He feels the curve of those familiar lips against the juncture of his neck and shoulder. (It's not enough.) 

Nyx's response is a clever snap of his hips that sends a fair amount of Cor's last functional thought processes entirely offline. The next shoves him past well past whatever novelty of anticipation might linger; all he's aware of is the sense of _Nyx_ sunk deep into every sense, and the slow pressure of a coil winding tightly, unevenly. Nyx's fingers fumble around his cock for a few unsteady strokes, but the angle isn't quite right — he's found his selfishness, Cor thinks dimly, right around the time he hears a frustrated growl rattle against his ear. "Touch yourself," Nyx breathes, and it'd almost be a snarl if the sound weren't so thready and wrecked. "Fucking — come, Cor. _Come_." 

A hand curled over the back of Cor's thigh, pushing him open, spreading him wider to accommodate the way Nyx feels like he's trying to bury himself inside. Cor spares a flicker of thought for the realization that he's been set free, but it's gone quickly, swept aside by the burn of muscles locked in place too long, the promise of relief that comes when he reaches between their sweat-slick bodies to fist his own cock with quick, punishing strokes. He gives in, too, to the need to curl himself around Nyx; Cor's fingers wind into Nyx's hair, anchoring the bend of his arm over the curve of Nyx's shoulder as he matches the pace of his grip to the relentless pistoning of Nyx's hips, each short, sharp thrust marked by flint-strike sparks of heat, roiling, ratcheting tension and the obscene clap of flesh meeting flesh. 

It might be nice to ride the edge of that cresting wave a while, Cor thinks, after so long _denied._ In a softer hour, perhaps, but for now Cor is far too tightly wound, and there's a telling urgency bleeding into the deep, rhythmic grunts Nyx buries in the hollow behind his collarbone, echoed in the fine tremble along his arm as he crushes Cor closer. _Come for me, come on, come_ on, Nyx gasps, and that's how it will be. 

This close, it's easy; nothing more complicated than letting those greedy little sounds resonate in his head, as simple as giving himself over to the scalding wash of breath against his skin and the insistent bow of his spine as that spiraling current licks through his legs and belly and shivers through his blood. This, here: the skip-beat moment of stillness, intransigent and ephemeral, and then the sideways slip of consciousness, his entire awareness filtered down to nothing more than the wet twitch and jerk of his cock between them as the unique sensation of _release_ fizzes across his nerves and spatters against his belly, startling in its intensity. 

Nyx's breath shifts in response, pitching higher, hurried and erratic as he rides out the clench of Cor's body around him. Losing rhythm as his teeth and tongue drag over the skin of Cor's throat, not-quite kisses steeped in raw desperation. Nyx's orgasm is never a quiet affair, and this is no exception; a long groan that wavers and lists like a stricken vessel, fingers locked in a bruising grip on Cor's thigh as his body shudders itself to gradual stillness. 

Cor slips his hand from between their bellies, heedless of the mess as he drapes it across the dip of Nyx's spine — a quiet grunt of amusement locked up in his throat as Nyx goes loose-limbed and pliant against him in response, surrendering to that meager weight in artless collapse. It suits Cor just fine, the sudden slip of withdrawal and the way that Nyx rearranges himself between Cor's thighs, tangling their legs together, all lazy, sated affection as Nyx settles down half-atop him still. 

Between the brush of lips and stubble against his cheek and the comfortable skin-sated buoyancy of afterglow, it takes Cor a moment to recognize that the fingers skimming along the edge of the blindfold are anything more than the usual lethargic exploration. Nyx finds a starting point close to his ear, and Cor squints against that first sliver of lamplight peeking from beneath it as Nyx works the cloth up past his brow and over his head, dimly surprised by the initial brightness as his eyes adjust. Nyx's fingernails scratch pleasantly at his scalp as he turns his head, and he finds himself mirroring Nyx's faint smile without thinking, caught up in the deep blue-gray of his eyes. 

"Hi," Nyx murmurs, and that smile shifts into a grin that leaves Cor feeling like he needs to catch his breath all over again. 

Cor snorts. "Evening, Ulric." Nyx rolls his eyes good-naturedly, and Cor answers by flicking a stray lock of damp hair back away from Nyx's forehead. "You good?" 

Nyx just glances down the length of their bodies, taking in the lazy tangle of their legs and the smear-edged pool of come that's settled over Cor's navel. Slyly, he dips a finger in the mess, then drags a thoughtful stripe up the center of Cor's chest. "Yeah," he says, and Cor finds himself grateful for the fact that he can watch him lean in for the kiss. " _Really_ good." 

_Really good._ An accurate assessment, Cor figures. 

**Author's Note:**

> no but seriously though how do you gracefully end a pwp? the world may never know. I sure fucking don't.
> 
> Thank you for reading! And go give my boy some love and follows on [tumblr](https://zva-redink.tumblr.com/) or [dreamwidth](https://zva-redink.dreamwidth.org/) if you haven't already. <3


End file.
